


Open Your Eyes

by karmula



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst, Bedside Vigils, Coma, Comatose Finn, Drabble, Flower-giving, Flowers, Hospitals, M/M, Oneshot, Post-Canon, Valentine's Day, Valentines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 07:44:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5997382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karmula/pseuds/karmula
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s funny, really. Despite his hopelessly romantic tendencies, and his at times even sickening sentimentality, Poe’s always been the one to receive the flowers. After all, as the Resistance's poster boy, it's only to be expected. He always brushes it off with a laugh and a smile, returns to work, and waits for the day he finally finds the one worth buying the flowers for.</p><p>He never imagined it would be like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day, and please don't forget to leave a kudos/comment if you liked it!

It’s funny, really. Despite his hopelessly romantic tendencies - and at times even sickening sentimentality - Poe’s always been the one to receive the flowers. Every Valentine’s day, his workstation is always overflowing with them; red and pink roses, cheerful yellow wreaths, sweet-smelling green bouquets wrapped in D'Qar moss and ribbons.  
Sometimes they’re serious, sometimes they’re jokes sent by the other pilots in his squad. Either way, they’re always a source of attention, of conversation for the day.

Poe always brushes it off with a laugh and a smile; the ever-charming Resistance poster boy, drowning in valentines. It was only to be expected, the kind of cliché occurrence that was to be half-chuckled, half-groaned at but that had to happen anyway because, well, it was practically a law of the universe at this point.

So he brushes it off, returns to work, and waits for the day he finally finds the one worth buying the flowers for.

It’s funny, really; because when it finally happens, it’s nothing at all like the sweet, colourful scene he’s ever imagined in his fantasies.

The medbay is dark when he enters, the air still and somehow heavy. In his right hand he clutches an elaborate bouquet of forget-me-nots, lilacs, and white roses, dotted with emerald blooms and tied together with a violet ribbon. In his left, he holds a single red rose.

Finn lies, still as ever, in a pool of white light. There’s a handwritten card propped up by one of the orderlies on his nightstand, the scrawling handwriting inside identifying its sender as Rey. A few wilting bunches of ferns and other forest plant-life sit, slowly shedding their leaves on the medbay floor, a present from the girl who still can’t believe there is so much green in the whole galaxy.

Poe sighs, sits on the edge of the bed. Finn doesn’t move a muscle; he’d almost think he was a statue if not for the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest.

“I got you something,” Poe says, placing the bouquet next to Rey’s card. “Flowers.” He wants to elaborate, to explain to Finn how much they really mean. _I’ve never bought anyone flowers before,_ he wants to shout, _and I bought them for you. I bought them for you - please, can’t you wake up and look at them? I bought them for you!_

But he doesn’t, because he suspects if he opens his mouth he’ll start to cry, and that wouldn’t be right. So he takes a deep, shuddering breath in, closes his eyes. He takes Finn’s hand, tries to extend his consciousness outward as Rey has explained to him so many times. Like always, he feels that slow, pulsing glow, like the last living ember after a great fire, that he knows is Finn, trapped away wherever he is, and slowly he finds his voice again.

Opening his eyes, he lays the rose on Finn’s chest. “And a rose,” he says, watching Finn’s features closely.

Nothing.

“Happy Valentine’s, buddy,” he whispers. He grips Finn’s hand tighter, with both hands now, and presses a tight-lipped kiss to his knuckles. “If you wake up, we can spend the whole day together. We can spend our whole lives together, if you just wake up, Finn. All you have to do is open your eyes.”

The petals of the first rose Poe has ever given are stark against the white sheet, red as blood, red as the sorrow that Poe feels, aching and bone-deep, when Finn doesn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, and if you enjoyed please don't forget to leave a kudos or a comment (constructive criticism is also always welcome) telling me what you liked!


End file.
